Temperamental Bard Number 2


I stopped.
The motion of time entangles my capacity to understand.

I am agitated.
It’s sadness that creaks from my windowsill.

I turned to stare from the inside.
The city landscape bares a pity play.

I cannot mourn.
My resistance is my own orthodoxy.

Hatred is selling like hotcakes.
That is what I know.

I am bent.



About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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10 Responses to Temperamental Bard Number 2

  1. nightlake says:

    nicely done and this line captures the imagination, ‘The city landscape bares a pity play..’

  2. billduff says:

    Wow – I met you on RoSy’s blog – but will certainly be a following your work from here-on-in. Fantastic.

  3. Pingback: Temperamental Bard Number 2 « A poem of mine a day :)

  4. carpetbeater says:

    I hear the ghetto Chester?

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